Those To Which Everything Is Owed
by lovesron
Summary: Songfic. A tribute to the DA. The six central characters reflect on the war once the final battle is over. Post Deathly Hallows, pre epilogue. Based on the fantastic song, Pictures of You, by The Last Goodnight.


_this is the clock up on the wall_

_this is the story of us all_

_this is the first sound of a new born child _

_before he starts to crawl_

Harry Potter rested his minimal weight on the four poster bed that he had inhabited since he was eleven years old. It was so long ago. So very long ago. In a time where this tortured boy was simply glad to escape the relatives who had hated him for the community he had been born into. In an era before this broken child knew of the prophecy that had condemned him to a loveless life. In a world where this fallen hero had found friends who would stand by him through the most terrible of circumstances and the most treacherous of lies. It was a lifetime ago when the kid with the world-renowned lightning bolt scar was sorted into Gryffindor house, and had arrived in this very same dormitory for the first time.

_pictures of you_

_pictures of me_

_hung up on your wall for the world to see_

That boy would never have expected to lose so many people whom he had loved by the time he reached the end of his education. He would never have guessed that his father's greatest friend would die in an attempt to protect his godson. He would never have imagined that the most brilliant wizard to ever live would be killed on his own orders. He would never have thought that Lupin would have given his life to further the headmaster's goal. He would never have fathomed the love that Snape had shared with Lily Evans, a bond so strong that he was willing to sacrifice himself for her only child. He never would have wanted this war to leave another boy orphaned simply because his parents were willing to die in order to insure a peaceful future for their son.

_pictures of you_

_pictures of me_

_remind us all of what we could have been_

Harry bowed his head in memory of the bravery of those they had lost on that night. He allowed the sparkling drops of water to fall onto his dark robes in mourning of the courageous soldiers who had been killed in the fight. And he vowed that he would not permit Teddy Lupin to live the life Harry had once lead. He swore that he would stand by the Weasleys in their time of greatest need, of such deep sorrow. He pledged to find the youngest of that family, the woman whom he loved so profoundly, and protect her for the remainder of his life. He promised himself that he would never again allow those he loved to suffer because of him.

_this is the war that's never won_

_this is the soldier and his gun_

_this is the mother waiting by the phone _

_praying for her son_

Ron Weasley lay, crumpled, against the stone wall enclosing the Gryffindor common room. His fingers raked his scalp with uneven nails, bighting into the delicate skin directly underneath the brilliant orange hair that now stood up in all directions. The freckled visage that was so prone to displaying reddened cheeks was deathly pale, looking sickly below the flecks of brown scattered across it. Voldemort was dead, that much he had understood, but the rest he had not yet been able to comprehend. Fred was gone. He had been taken, stolen, from a family that valued its members beyond all else. The searing pain of that realization coursed through the lanky boy's veins, physically paining him. He would never again spot the identical set of red heads climbing the stairs of The Burrow together, laughing merrily all the while. He would never again notice the matching pair of pranksters causing their mother to scream in outrage. He would never again be one of seven.

_pictures of you_

_pictures of me_

_hung up on your wall for the world to see_

He loved the castle in which he sat. He loved the classrooms, he loved the staircases, he loved the halls, loved the corridors. But more than anything, he loved the people. He loved that, for once in his life, he could be a part of something other than the Weasley family. He loved that he had his own friends, that to them he was more than just the sixth red headed son. He loved Harry for being his best mate through seven long years. He loved Hermione for always saving their asses, but more than that, so much more than that, he loved her. He had loved her for so long it hurt him. The single memory that was just as prominent in his mind as his brother's death was the moment of passion he and that perfect woman had shared. It replayed again and again in his head, so often that he had begun to question its validity. If he had lost her, if Hermione had been killed, if she too had been taken, he did not know if he would have survived. He wanted her to be there, beside him, so desperately.

_pictures of you_

_pictures of me_

_remind us all of what we used to be_

He loved the years they had spent at the school. He loved the summers they had wasted at his home. He loved the things they had accomplished, he loved the people they had come to know, he loved the fact that they were still alive. He loved the images that appeared in his head, those of how life used to be. Those of evenings spent in the common room. Those of quidditch matches he had played. Those of walks through the beautiful landscape of Hogsmeade. Those that reflected a world he had once been a part of, that of a life where his brother would not, could not, be so cruelly taken from him. Those instances that described a universe lacking such a brutal god. Those moments where the deaths of so many would seem impossible.

_woooah_

Hermione Granger stood alone in the now vacated Great Hall. The bodies had been taken away. The lifeless forms had been removed. Their eyes, so cruelly empty, could no longer stare at her accusatorily. Their limbs, so hauntingly devoid of any humanity, could no longer threaten to hurt her. Their chests, so terribly still, could no longer display their lack of life so menacingly. But, even so, she could not forget. The physical proof did not need to be present for her to remember, in shocking detail, each defeated warrior.

_there is a drug that cures it all_

_blocked by the governmental wall_

_we are the scientists inside the lab just waiting for the call_

She was slouched against one of the four tables that stretched the length of the hall. The rough wood was an insignificant pain against her back. The exhaustion filling her body was an unimportant ache. The throbbing in her feet was a meaningless injury. She was one apart from her body, her spirit floating high above, staring unblinkingly down at the striking scene below. That of a girl wishing for justice. That of a friend hoping for help. That of a daughter praying for salvation. That of a young woman in love, pleading for her knight in shining armor to appear through the anguish and take her away. Far away. So far that she could simply forget all of the heroes who had died fighting for love, for tolerance, for peace.

_this earthquake weather has got me shaking_

_inside i'm high up and dry_

And even as she wished, even as she hoped, even as she pleaded, she knew her prayers would never be answered. She knew that her Prince Charming was grieving for the loss of a part of his very being. She knew that she could never, never ask him to come to her aide when his own pain was so horribly real. She knew that what she and her two greatest friends had done was the single most important event in history. She knew that they had saved the world. But did the world matter when someone has lost so many they have loved, so many who have defined them, along the way?

_pictures of you_

_pictures of me_

_hung up on your wall for the world to see_

Ginny Weasley rested her head against the trunk of one of the many magnificent trees that lined the dark lake. She plucked at the grass beside her outstretched legs, hoping to find an answer written beneath the thin green strands, a solution scrawled in the soil. She tried to distract herself from her own thoughts, from the memories showing her broken family for what it truly was; a whole so painfully incomplete.

_pictures of you_

_pictures of me_

_remind us all of what we used to be_

The boy, no, the man, she had fallen in love with was responsible. In his own way he had saved their world; without sacrificing his morals, ethics, or beliefs along the way to becoming their greatest savior. He had brought peace to a land so long ravaged by hate. And yet, she was not among those celebrating his triumphant return into their midst. She had spent an entire year wondering if she would ever see, not only her brother and friend, but also the love of her life, again. It was this that had shaken her, so horribly deeply, when she had thought him to be dead.

_confess to me_

_every secret moment_

_every stolen promise you've believed_

Every part of her soul had ached when he had ended things between them the previous year. Her already damaged heart had threatened to give way at the thought of the nobility, chivalry, and bravery that this young man possessed in such enormous quantities. She knew that it had hurt him too, but that he understood it was a necessity in a war in which he lead the rebellion. And even as she pondered the countless instances where he had destroyed her, she knew she would always love that courageous soldier of the good, that she could never escape the spell he had cast over her wounded heart, captivating her betrayed affections.

_confess to me_

_all that lies between us_

_all that lies between you and me_

Neville Longbottom lay on the cold flagstones of the entrance hall. His bloodied form was leaning against the grand staircase leading up to the many levels above. The sword of Godric Gryffindor was clutched tightly in his wounded hand, the rubies incrusted in its hilt glistening against the pale gray of the floor. His head was filled to bursting with pictures and remembrances of the day's, and year's, events. He had missed his friends over the past months. He had kept their army alive in their absence, knowing they would someday return and be in need of assistance. He had kept it running because he had hoped, beyond all rational thought, that he would someday get the chance to avenge his parent's awful circumstances.

_we are the boxers in the ring_

_we are the bells that never sing_

_there is a title we cant win no matter how hard we must swing_

But the truth was, no matter how hard he tried, how viciously he fought, how mercilessly he killed, he could never make up for the fact that he had lived his entire life with his parents in a constant state of horrifying insanity. He could never make up for the lack of a family that he was so completely aware of at all times. He could only keep fighting, keep going, keep living, in their honor.

_pictures of you_

_pictures of me_

_hung up on your wall for the world to see_

This injured boy would never know how close he had coming to carrying the legendary burden of Harry Potter. He would never be given the opportunity to come to terms with his narrow escape from a life of such dreaded responsibility. But really, had he gotten away? Had he not still vowed to destroy the monster who had hurt his mother and father so fully? Had he not still promised to protect those who the Dark Lord would wish to hurt? Had he not still prayed for the power and skill to bring respect to his family's name? Had he not still lost people he had loved?

_pictures of you_

_pictures of me_

_remind us all of what we could have been_

Luna Lovegood stood in the midst of the many strange herbs and unidentifiable plants that grew in the Herbology patch outside the castle. She slowly made her way through the shrubs surrounding her thin body. The straight blonde hair that so strikingly framed her pale features was grimy, her clear blue eyes searching the horizon for some sort of explanation. In these months she had experienced horrors the like of which she had never dreamed of. Both she, and later her father and friends, had been captured as well as tortured for supporting a completely necessary revolt.

_pictures of you_

_pictures of me_

_hung up on your wall for the world to see_

She would never forget the pure desperation filling the basement cell she had shared with Mr. Ollivander for what seemed like a lifetime. The day that a wary Harry and a horrified Ron had stumbled into that Hell hole, accompanied by a goblin and an old friend, had been the moment of their salvation. She could remember, so painfully clearly, the shrieks of anguish that had escape Ron's horribly stretched lips, his fists beating the rough stone walls in a futile attempt at rescuing the one woman whom he loved so unequivocally. She thought of her young man, the single person whom she had come to regard as priceless, the one-time Gryffindor chaser who meant so much to her. Dean had been the world to her in the weeks she had spent recovering at Shell Cottage from her long imprisonment. She wished for his strong hand, holding hers in its firm grip, him pacing along side her.

_pictures of you_

_pictures of me_

_remind us all of what we could have been_

_what could have been_

_we could have been_

But more than that, she wanted to banish those dreadful memories from her wrecked mind, she wanted to live her life without the shadow of a past war scarring her for good. She wished she knew how matters had come to this shocking brutality. But she did not, the few things she did understand seemed meaningless after what had happened. The battle was over, this she knew, this she could not help but know, for the price they had paid to achieve that goal was something that would always remain, forever etched into her memory. She knew that the single greatest tragedy of humanity was being alone, and that the acceptance of Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Neville had been the defining instant of her lifetime. She would eternally remember how much that had meant to her, how it had changed her, for the rest of her existence. She knew that she would be grateful, forever more, for being born into a generation that would take circumstances into their own hands, that would rise above both prejudice and cruelty, that would be forever known as the army of civilians who made the difference. This she knew. This she would always know. And still, sometimes she wished that she, that they, had had the opportunity to be a part of a peaceful society. To live the lives they deserved. To be children, if only for a short period of time.

_pictures of you_

_pictures of me_

_remind us all of what we could have been_

_what could have been_

A world, this world, their world, had been rescued from unavoidable tragedy by the young men and women who had the strength to look past the brutality they had endured, to overcome the suffering that had been forced upon them, and learn to love one another once more. The leaders of a revolution. The heroes of a revolt. The legends of a war. The people who made it all worth something. The family. The friends. Those to which everything is owed, those who asked for nothing in return for their monumental sacrifices. Those we will forever be grateful to.

Dumbledore's Army.


End file.
